


Mating Practices of the Great Mid-Western Moose

by elliedew



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Dean Winchester is a nosy big brother, Dean slowly begins to embrace his own bisexuality by accepting his brother's, F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, M/M, Multi, Sam Winchester's wonderful life, Sam has to give Dean a 'Talk', Sam is BI and Polyamorous, The Winchesters VS Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-12 22:24:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliedew/pseuds/elliedew
Summary: Sam Winchester is a private person, despite living in his brother's pockets most of his life. He is a 'fully-functional' adult, he doesn't need help getting laid. It's just a much more complicated process than it is for his brother.(Polyamorous Sam)





	Mating Practices of the Great Mid-Western Moose

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to write more light-hearted stuff and less straight up angst. So, while this fic may contain a little, it is not a angstfest like some of my other work.

_ (Mid Season 2, Summer)_

**Matthew **

“Sammy, you need to get laid,” Dean had no idea how much that statement burned. It wasn’t a cool fact, or a suggestion that Sam go out and find some nameless faceless girl to get off with. Well, it was, but THAT wasn’t possible for Sam, through no fault of his own.

Sam just couldn’t DO that. He needed the emotional connection, without it he might as well just pull one off in the bathroom by himself. Ninety-nine percent of the time, he craved the emotional fulfillment more than the physical.

He also craved being perfectly crushed between two bodies, but that wasn’t something he wanted to admit aloud. He didn’t need Dean making snarky comments on how ‘kinky’ it was that his little brother’s idea of good sex involved not one, but two (possibly more) partners.

To Sam, it wasn’t kinky it was just how things worked. He’d done the whole one-on-one thing before, it wasn’t bad, but there was just something _better_ something _right_ about having two bodies there to rain attention on. There was variety, there was _more._

Jess had understood, she’d encouraged it. Giggled when he’d confessed it to her and said she had a friend in Biology that might be interested.

Jess’ friend Kalila was taller, fuller in hip and breast and stomach with a beautiful, wild mass of black curls she kept twisted at the top of her head, or in delicate microbraids nearly to her waist. Sam liked to attack the thin soft flesh between her breasts with lips and tongue while Jess went down on her. The _noises_ she made.

It wasn’t every time they had sex, sometimes Sam liked to be in charge, liked to lift and move Jess around as he wanted her. But others, he liked to be the one manhandled. 

Kalila wouldn’t let Sam penetrate, said she’d never really liked it—and that was fine, Sam respected it. He also respected the little black harness Kalila dawned every so often and the shiny green dildo she called ‘Tim’.

Kalila liked to spread Sam out on the bed on his stomach and work him open with a gloved hand, press ininin and trap him between her body and Jess’, liked to fuck him just this side of rough because sometimes Sam got so overloaded by sensation he just laid there making soft desperate noises. Letting himself be moved with the thrusts, watching with glazed eyes as the girls kissed over his shoulder, feeling them come part around and behind him. Slowing, gentling him through his own climax and wrapping him between their bodies until he could breathe again. 

It was never cheap, not like the ‘threesome’ Dean bragged about having in Tulsa. The two blondes who took turns going down on him between sloppy wet kisses and drunken groping.

It never seemed cheap like that. Never seemed kinky, it was just the three of them.

Kalila ‘grew apart’ from them her senior year, but sometimes Sam had seen her, had smiled and she had smiled back, lifted her fingers and waved in a fond, intimate way.

Jess had been talking about one of the guys in Sam’s public speaking class before Dean had shown up that night. Nathan, was his name. Small town kid, smiled a lot, kept to himself, no drugs, barely ever drank. Sam had thought he had a cute smile.

Now here he was at a bar watching Dean flirt shamelessly at some brunette and her friend.

Dean brings them over and the friend sidles up to Sam. She’s drunk and has just enough of her brown roots showing to make her hair look fried. She has a soft smile and only smells a little like cigarette smoke.

Sam smiles and talks to her, until she leans forward, her breasts against his arm and whispers that she isn’t wearing panties, then teases his ear with the tip of her tongue.

“That’s nice…” Sam says under his breath and takes one last drink of his beer; “I’ll be right back,” He feigns toward the bathrooms, makes sure Dean’s taken over wooing the blonde and makes for the door.

Dean isn’t happy when he comes back earlier than expected and finds Sam lying with his ankles crossed on his bed in the motel, laptop on his hips, third cup of coffee on the bedside table typing up notes on a case he’s found about two-hundred miles west.

Dean throws something at him. Sam ducks too fast to really see what it was, but from the dent it leaves in the headboard he’s willing to bet it was something that would have hurt. Dean asks him what the hell that was.

Sam blinks and motions to the dent in the headboard; “What the hell was THAT!”

“I’m tryin’ to help you since you can’t seem to find a girl that isn’t part psycho on your own! What’s wrong with you? Are normal girls not good enough for you? They have to want to bite your neck off?”

Sam lets out a sigh and cocks his head to the side; “Bite my neck off?”

“Shut up,” Dean waves at him dismissively; “Your whole celibate act is contagious, knock it off!”

“Contagious?”

“You blew off Tiffany and her friend felt so bad she blew ME off! And not in the good way either!”

Sam rolls his eyes, he doesn’t think Dean being left high and dry for one night is going to hurt him. His older brother is just a LITTLE oversexed to begin with, a nice dry-spell will do him some good. “Whatever…” He motions to his computer; “I found witches.”

“No, don’t try to change the subject!”

“Oh, so _now_ you wanna talk?” Sam chuckles; _“You_ want to talk?”

“I want to know why the hell you can’t come down off your fuckin’ high horse and blow off some steam once and a while! You’re not any better than anybody else, despite what you may think! Those girls were nice—They were _awesome_—fuckin’ _tens_, Sam—and you just _LEFT?_ What’s the matter with you!”

“Dean, if I want sex, I’ll go find someone to have sex with. I don’t need your help. I can go for more than a week without getting laid.”

“Four months!”

Sam rolls his eyes again, “If I felt like I needed it I would have done it already. Not everything revolves around sex.”

Dean obviously doesn’t understand because his nose is still wrinkled up and he’s looking at Sam like he’s sprouted a second head.

Sam rubs his eyes tiredly.

“Do you like guys or something? Is this—is this you coming out?”

“Dean!”

His hands come up in something like surrender and his expression is mildly uncomfortable. “Not judgin’, man, whatever—whatever floats your boat, ya’ know? But I’d kinda like to know if that’s the case so I’m not makin’ an ass of myself pushing girls at you when you—“ He clears his throat, “—Swing for the other team.”

“Oh, my God,” Sam covers his face, “I’m not gay, Dean.”

Dean makes a face Sam has seen himself make, it’s part disbelief, part sympathy part exasperation; “Really?”

“Christsake, Dean, _shut up!”_ Sam knocks his head back against the headboard and breathes out toward the ceiling; “I’m not gay…”

Dean rubs his hands on his knees and his shoulders relax a little—

“Per say… I-I just need more.”

Dean’s brow cocks up; “More?”

Sam scratches his head; “It’s complicated.”

“Sam… I’m drunk, I’m drunk I got shot down by a girl who was so desperate she probably would have taken the elephant man back to her place and done kinky—_kinky_ things to him and I had to listen to fuckin’ ‘Tear in my Beer’ _nine times_ because some asshole stuck a whole roll of quarters in the jukebox and jammed the button in. The least you can do is tell me why I got shot down because Tiffany was upset you didn’t come back.”

Sam looks at him, Dean is far from actually ‘Drunk’ he’s buzzed, maybe a little more than buzzed, but he’s not drunk enough that he’s turned morose. Dean only really gets morose when he’s flirting with alcohol poisoning. Sam’s seen it maybe twice in his life and both times Dad had pushed him into the bathroom and forced a few fingers down Dean’s throat to get it out again, then woke them both up at the asscrack of dawn for greasy eggs and a five-K run as punishment.

Sam stares at him for a few minutes, looks back at his case notes and decides there’s only two ways he’s getting out of this. One, he can tell Dean the honest, whole hearted truth. Or two, he can tell him the truth in a tone that makes Dean think he’s being sarcastic, get the pressure off his chest, and tell Dean he doesn’t find Bottle-Blondes attractive. That’ll work for a few weeks at least, until Dean gets it in his head again that Sammy needs to get laid and they can rehash this conversation later.

“I left because I can only really enjoy sex if there’s more than one person there.”

Dean blinks rapidly in surprise.

Sam tilts his head and lets the corner of his mouth twitch, just a little. Just enough that it doesn’t look like he’s forcing it, so it looks natural.

Dean rolls his eyes; “You’re so full of shit.”

Sam chuckles and it sounds flat to his ears; “I’m an adult, I can pick up my own girls, Dean,” He turns back to his computer; “You doing it for me is just degrading.”

“God, you’re such a snob,” Dean smacks the back of his head as he stands and shuffles to the bathroom; “You better have left me some hot water, Bitch.”

Sam grins broadly; “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

“If it turns cold right in the middle of things I’m gonna do something questionable to your conditioner.”

The water doesn’t turn cold, though Sam thinks it’s a miracle because he was sure he’d used it all trying to relax himself enough to sleep after being taunted all night.

Dean comes out in his boxerbriefs with his hair slicked to his head. He yawns and rubs his face then collapses across his bed, wallows around in the blankets for a minute or two and finds a comfortable position on his stomach with a pillow shoved up under one jaw and his right hip.

“Do you wanna hear about this case, or not?” Sam asks without looking over.

Dean grunts; “Sure,” His eyes are closed. He doesn’t look interested, but Sam has come to understand that looks can be deceiving.

“Witches,” He says with a sigh, “Three weeks ago the local church burned to the ground killing the pastor… Firemen found a hidden sex dungeon under the game room in an old root cellar. A week later to the day, one of the church councilmen is found in his car, burned to a crisp, the car is still fully intact. A week after that another councilmen burns to death sitting on the toilet in his home—wife says she smelled smoke, opened the door and there he was, but there is no smoke damage in the house…”

“Sulfur?”

“Nope… Then two nights ago the sheriff’s eldest son spontaneously combusts on the basketball court in front of two-hundred spectators, he’s in critical condition, third-degree burns on fifty percent of his body, he only survived outright because the coaches came running with extinguishers. Doctors don’t expect him to make it, but a woman who was in the bathroom at the time says she heard chanting coming from one of the stalls just seconds before the kid burst into flames. Police dismissed it, probably think someone just had too many hotdogs.”

Dean doesn’t look up; “What kind of chanting.”

“The report states that the witness heard Latin.”

Dean shrugs one shoulder, “Still could be an angry spirit instead of a witch… Any other activity or just the whole—” He makes a noise between his teeth and holds his hands up to indicate a ball, Sam assumes he’s miming something bursting into flames.

“Just the rash of spontaneous human combustions. Well the first one, the church burning down, seems unrelated because all of the others none of the structures were damaged. There wasn’t even smoke damage in the car where Vincent Randall was found.”

“Could be the guys died in the fire and someone moved the bodies as cover up. The kid bursting into flames could be unrelated.”

“So should we check it out?”

He shrugs again. “Might as well,” He snuggles down into his pillow and hefts a sigh.

Sam shuts down his laptop, pleased with himself and worms his way further down in the bed.

It’s quiet for a long while, Sam is starting to drift off when he hears a noise, a soft unconcerned sound;

“Sammy?”

“Hmm?” He grunts but doesn’t wake up completely.

“You know that if you—if you _did_ like guys. I’d be okay with it… right?”

Sam is quiet, awake now and he can hear the day old prickles on his brother’s face scratching against his pillow. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly into the darkness. Outside in the night a dog barks somewhere and a car blows its horn on the highway.

“I was serious before.”

“Hmm?” Dean shifts, turns his head to squint in Sam’s direction, he can see his brother’s outline highlighted by the orange glow through the curtains behind him. “’bout what?”

“About the whole needing more than one person… It—I can do the whole one on one thing if I’ve got an emotional attachment without much of a problem but… I just—“ He takes a deep breath, it’s so difficult to explain it without someone automatically thinking ‘kinky threesomes are your thing, go you’ because it’s not kinky. It’s intimate, strangely enough, it’s more intimate than just being one-on-one. “—I find the idea of being kind of… kind of up in between two people… fulfilling in a way monogamous sex isn’t. And the relationship aspect- It's so much less stressful if there is more than one other person to talk to, and share your feelings with.”

Dean swallows audibly; “Dude…”

“It’s not a kink—It’s really not because most of the time I have to—I have to be emotionally invested in both parties and I—I just _can’t_ unless I _know_ them, Dean… I knew Jess for eight months before we had sex and I was scared to death to tell her because I really, _really_ love— _loved_ her.”

Dean remains silent for a ten count and he sounds genuinely uncomfortable when he does find his voice; “So you… you’re like into that whole sharing thing all the time?”

Sam rubs his eyes and he presses in so hard colors burst under his lids; “I looked into the different kinds of poly-amorous relationships—tried a few and this just fit, just felt right.”

“A few?”

“The first one doesn’t count because neither of them knew about the other… After that—before Jess— there were Crystal and Kimberly. They knew about one another, but it was all separate you know? We’d have group study sessions together just—just platonically and then we had our relationships on the side. We were monogamous to each other. Me and Crys and me and Kim… but they weren’t together.”

Dean is quiet.

“It was nice, and emotionally it was great, but it wasn’t—it wasn’t what I needed, I tried to explain that and they freaked out. They were fine with the whole separate thing, but when I suggested all of us together they—“

“Dropped you like a hot potato.”

“Yeah.”

Dean hums again but doesn’t say anything, just listens. Maybe he’s too embarrassed to say anything. Maybe he’s secretly getting off on hearing about his little brother’s sex-capades. Sam likes to think he’s just listening.

“Then I met Jess… I tried to shut it down but it—I couldn’t, so I told her one night and she was embarrassed but—but after a little while she was okay with it. She actually introduced me to her friend Kalila and we… well, yeah. That worked out perfectly for three years.”

“Kalila?”

“Yeah, black hair, Pre-med—”

“Holy shit, that chick you’ve got a picture of in that cat costume?”

Sam lifts his head and stares in Dean’s direction; “You’ve been perving at the photos on my laptop? Come on, man, that’s low even for you.”

“Cut me some slack, you’ve banged that chick—BOTH OF THEM AT ONCE—That… _Jesus.”_

Sam feels his face heat up and he turns his back to Dean.

“How the hell did you manage to keep not only one but _two_ girls satisfied _at once_? What are you, like the fuckin’ energizer bunny? Or do you have an endorsement contract with Viagra.”

Sam chokes and turns onto his back; “What?”

“You know what they say about big butts, right?”

“Oh my God…” He rubs his face. “Dean, I didn’t, okay? She didn’t DO that.”

“What? What’d she do then? Just sit there and watch?”

“NO… She had… She,” He scratches absently at his jaw and just says it. “It was a Samwich OK?”

“What do you mean a sandwich?”

“SAM-wich… Like, m-me in the middle.”

Dean is perfectly silent for ten seconds. He makes a hollow sound in his throat; “Uh—Wow… So—so you do kinda like… kinda like guys.”

“Maybe… I don’t know, there’s a big difference between a chubby chick with a strap-on and another guy, Dean.”

And Dean makes a rather effeminate giggling noise high in his nose.

Sam snorts and they both lay there quietly laughing for a while.

“Okay,” Dean says finally; “I gotta ask… Why would you let a chick do that to you?”

“You ever check it out down there?”

“Fuck no,” He doesn’t sound offended, just rather plainly (if rudely) stating that no, he hasn’t had anything near his ass before and he’s never really seen the appeal of it.

“Well, try it… I was pleasantly surprised. Surprised enough to let someone take a nine inch bright green dildo named ‘Tim’ to my ass, so what does that tell you.”

Dean makes another helpless confused, embarrassed sound, “Aw, man… I am seriously not drunk enough for this conversation.”

Sam laughs again. “Too many feelings?”

“Less chick flick, more ‘Dear Penthouse’.”

“Aw, come on, like you’ve never considered guys before.”

“I haven’t—I mean, yeah, I’ve seen attractive men, I can admit that. And I think I may have got a blowjob from a drag queen in Des Moines once. Either that or she had really big hands, but—you know—I’ve never looked at a guy and said; ‘Damn I want that’ before.”

“You are so full of shit.”

“Blow me.”

Sam cackles.

Dean punches blindly at his brother’s arm in the dark; “Shut up—You’re cut off. No more feely-crap… _ever,”_ He flops over onto his side, back to Sam and tries to punch his pillow into submission.

Sam rubs the amused tears from his face and lets himself calm down before he tries to speak again. “Hey… I’m sorry about tonight.”

“Aw, don’t be… She wasn’t that great lookin’ anyway… Five tops.”

Sam rolls his eyes; “I thought they were tens?”

Dean makes a farting noise between his lips and flaps a hand at him; “I was drunk. Everything looks better when you’re drunk.”

“Not you though. Not enough alcohol in the world.”

“Screw you! I’m fuckin’ gorgeous! Everybody else gets drunk just for the chance of lookin’ like me.”

Sam cackled.

“Shut it, I’m tired.”

Sam laughs himself to sleep.

0-0-0

Turns out there is a witch. She was not, however, setting anybody on fire. No, that honor belonged to the ghost of a nineteen-year-old who had been secretly video-taped with her three married lovers in their playroom by Derrick, the Sherriff’s eldest son. Instead of protecting the girl and ending the affairs, the three men and Derrick had decided they all had a right to her. When she denied them and threatened to expose them, well— they’d taken her to the outskirts of town and ended things ‘cleanly’. Even went to the trouble of burning the body to make sure nobody found her.

And what was the dead girl’s spirit attached to then? The church was gone, her body was gone, what had been left? A lock of hair in a little silver heart around Mommy-the witch’s neck.

The chanting the witness had heard in the bathroom? Mommy attempting to keep her daughter from hurting anyone else, and when she comes home to and sees Sam and Dean shooting the ghost of her baby full of rocksalt, well Mommy goes ape shit.

Surprisingly enough though, Mommy listens to reason and while the girl’s spirit throws Dean through a second story window. Sam is trying to explain what’s happening to the witch, he does surprisingly well considering she’s holding him upside down by his foot over the stairs.

Just as Dean had reached the garden hose and turned it on the flaming apparition reaching for him where he's huddled against the car, she puffed out of existence.

It takes thirty-four stitches to hold the gash on Dean’s side closed, four to pull the edges of a cut in his eyebrow together, and nine in his right forearm where he’d flung it up over his head to protect his face and eyes going through the window. As well as various other cuts, bumps, bruises, and a mild concussion.

Sam washes the soot off the Impala’s windows and inspects the paint on the hood for damage, then sits back and watches Dean limp around the car doing his own inspection before it’s deemed OK.

It’s not until four days later in the bathroom of a truck stop that Sam gives any more thought to the discussion he and Dean had had about his Preferences.

Sam has had one night stands before. Not frequently, but it’s happened. Those rare, interesting people he's had an instant connection with. And the look the guy at the sink just gave him is, to say the least, enticing. Especially considering how damned horny Sam is.

0-0-0

Dean’s slouched in the passenger seat, left arm tucked up against his side, sunglasses pulled down tight when Sam comes out swinging a plastic bag. Dean knows something’s up because Sam’s still got his receipt in his hand, and that crooked little half smirk on his face isn’t something his brother’s worn in a while.

Sam pushes the bag in through the window onto Dean’s lap and circles around the back of the car to make sure he’s put the gas cap back on before he slides behind the wheel.

Dean paws through the bag stiffly; “What put you in such a good mood?”

Sam doesn’t answer, just mentions something about a camp ground two miles up the road. “Only seven-fifty a night, and since we’re kind of low on funds…”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Last time I slept in a tent with you I woke up soaking wet—”

“Sounds like a personal problem to me.”

“The tent _leaks.”_

“It’s not going to rain and even if It did you’re not gonna melt.”

“That’s not the point. I want a hot shower—“

Sam turns and looks at him, “You’re sick aren’t you… You let me drive, you let me pick where we had lunch— now you’re whining about a shower. You are. You’re sick.”

“I’m not—“

“—You are—“

“—I’m not sick!”

Sam doesn’t believe him, but drives to the camp ground anyway. Pays for two nights and finds the tent in the trunk, stuffed deep in the back under a broken set of bolt cutters that haven’t been touched in years.

Dean climbs out of the car and sits stiffly on their cooler while Sam sets the tent up. Then he scowls and grumbles because lying on the rocky ground in a fucking sleeping bag in a leaking tent next to his brother—who had broccoli for lunch he might add—is not how he wants to spend the next two nights.

That night Dean can’t get comfortable, and so complains about it. Mutters something about a fucking log in his back and worms his way around until he’s not lying on anything and Sam is biting his pillow to keep from laughing.

“Why the hell you want to stay here anyway?” Dean’s just a black shape an arm’s length away but Sam can see the glint of his eyes because the people in the site next to theirs still have a fire burning.

Sam scrubs his jaw on his forearm and lets his breath out slowly; “Do you really want to know?”

“Do I want to know why you’ve insisted on sleeping on a pile of rocks in Podunk Iowa as opposed to an actual _bed_ fifty miles down the road?”

“If you’re that uncomfortable go sleep in the car.”

“If I get in the car I’m going to a hotel.”

“Dean… Just—I wanted to stay in the area, alright?”

“Is there a case?”

“No, just—“

“Then…” Dean goes quiet, blinks and turns his head; “You got a date or something?”

He’s quiet for a few heartbeats and Dean swats at him

“Yes!” He says swatting back, “Tomorrow night, and camping out gives me an excuse to go alone.”

“Alo—_OH!”_

Sam can feel his brother grinning, a sly lascivious thing.

“Sammy’s gonna get _laid!”_

“Shut up.”

“You’re the one who mentioned it… What’s she— I mean, what they look like? They hot?”

Sam feels a little proud that Dean corrected himself. “Yeah.”

“Get some, Sammy!”

“I’m—I’m kinda nervous.”

“What? Why? You got this!”

“Yeah, but… I-I’ve never actually slept with a guy before.”

“Oh, well, I can’t help you there,” Dean pulls the edge of his sleeping bag up to his chin. “Just—uh—Be careful I guess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean condoms and _lube_, Sam. I may never have slept with a guy, but some girls are into anal. Gotta loosen up, yanno?”

Sam was quiet, face wrinkled in disgust; “I know how to—”

Dean rubbed his neck; “Like—I know you can take care of yourself, but just— Don’t let him hurt you, okay?”

Sam let out a slow breath, “I won’t.”

“Okay then.”

Dean fidgets a little, doesn’t fall asleep easy when he’s laying on the ground like this. When Sam wakes up the next morning Dean’s already awake, has a little fire going in the fire pit and is boiling water for coffee. He doesn’t look like he slept well, if at all.

Sam yawns and drinks the coffee Dean gives him a little bit later. It’s bitter and dark and scalds his throat, but it’s a good feeling.

He convinces Dean to go out for breakfast, instead of eating the bologna and cheese they have in the cooler, and Dean perks up some after bacon, eggs, and a side of fried apples.

In the heat of the day Sam decides to go swimming in the river—Dean says it looks unsanitary but kicks off his boots, rolls up his jeans, and wades in halfway to his knees. Then sits on a rock with his arms crossed and his sunglasses on. Stiff and supporting his side.

Sam finds the deepest, coldest spot he can and eases into it, floats for a while and enjoys the chill. He attempts to splash Dean a few times, but his brother threatens to steal his clothes from the river bank and leave him to walk back to the campground naked.

“How the fuck do you expect to go on a date smelling like river water?”

“There’s a shower house by the bathrooms, dumbass,” He says, wiping water from his eyes.

“Yeah, and no water heater.”

“You call me a girl.”

“I’m sorry if I prefer not to smell like fish and funk.”

Sam rolls his eyes and splashes at him again. Dean reaches for the pile of his brother’s clothes and Sam scrambles toward him with a snarl; “Don’t! Don’t you dare!”

The later in the evening it gets, the more nervous Sam becomes. He paces a while, tries to ignore Dean lounging in a shitty folding chair by the fire with his arms crossed, clearly unwell, but too stubborn to admit it.

At about six that evening when most of the other campers are preparing dinner, Sam is pawing through his duffle bag cursing himself because none of his clothes seem to be nice enough for a date. He has jeans with holes in the knees, shirts with vague bloodstains, splatters of bleach, and holes from embers. Everything smells vaguely of car exhaust, lighter fluid, cheap motels, and burning bones. But, Sam can’t keep his hands still, and he’s developed a twitch in his left eye.

“Dude,” Dean says from where he’s roasting four Vienna Sausages at once on a crooked stick over the fire. “Just chill! You’re making me tense!”

“You’re tense because you’re sick,” Sam says, violently shuffling things in the trunk.

“I’m not sick!”

“Whatever,” Sam mutters and yanks the zip on his bag. He rubs his face and reaches for his toiletry case, begins compulsively sifting through it.

Dean watches him silently, either annoyed or unsympathetic, Sam can’t really tell which.

His deodorant is nearly empty, his cologne is leaking everywhere. His toothbrush is damned near mangled from being crushed against this and that. His shaver is dull—

Fuck, this is pathetic. He covers his face with a low groan of frustration.

“Hey,” Dean is suddenly right next to him, leaning over the trunk to drag his own bag over. “Why the hell are you so worked up over this? It’s just a date—if you’re that uncomfortable, then don’t sleep with him… Date doesn’t always equal sex.”

Sam parts his fingers and stares at his brother menacingly.

Dean rolls his eyes; “Here,” He shoves an unopened plastic package of t-shirts against Sam’s chest, and hands him a two-pack of cheap disposable razors. He drags his brother’s bag back out and grumbles as he paws through the tangle of half-clean clothes. “Go get cleaned up, you smell like skank.”

Sam wanted to shove him, some kind of physical aggression so he didn’t feel so chided and coddled and parented. Instead he took a deep breath, grabbed his towel and shuffled off toward the shower houses.

There were a few stalls, cheap, warped plywood things hastily constructed in what was likely the mid-eighties, painted an ugly glossy brown with lead based paint. It was chipped and slightly sticky in some places, and the shower curtain itself was speckled along the top edge with black mildew.

Sam thought he had been gracious by calling it a ‘shower’ in his head. In all actuality it was a bare pipe sticking out of the concrete block wall with a corroded plastic showerhead and a metal drain in the floor like a god damned slaughterhouse. He felt vaguely afraid he may catch some plague if he stepped too near it, but he’d seen worse, so he draped his clean clothes on a hook screwed to the back of the door and undressed. Dropped his dirty clothes over the wall and turned the tap.

The water came out with incredible force, and was so cold Sam thought his balls had gone into hiding somewhere amid his intestines. It was colder than the river had been—colder than that time he’d been shoved into a pond in February by a ghost when he was sixteen.

He inhaled through gritted teeth and pushed it out again in a sound like a kettle boiling. “Shit! Shit- that’s cold!”

He scrubbed the necessities as quickly as he could, and ducked his head under the vicious spray, then stepped out of the line of fire shivering to soap his hair and under his arms. Hesitated and bent to scrub up and down both legs, trying to avoid his back side because, yes. Dean had been right. A date didn’t mean sex… But holy fuck was Matthew hot.

Six feet of broad, tattooed dark skin with the most compelling pair of brown eyes Sam had seen in ages.

Matthew had winked at him in the bathroom and taken a long, lingering look up and down Sam’s body. Slightly hesitant because not all men appreciate it—But Sam had felt himself heating up just under the weight of the other man’s stare.

_He returned the look and Matthew had looked around to make sure they were alone in the bathroom before he spoke;_

_“I don’t usually do this—but you—you’re not from around here, are you. I know just about every guy in town and I know I’d remember you.”_

_“No—uh… my brother and I are on a roadtrip.”_

_“That’s too bad—fine ass like that, I’d show you around if you were staying a few days—”_

_“Well…” Sam had felt a flutter in his chest; “That-that could be arranged.”_

A boner while under assault from cold water was not exactly Sam’s definition of a good time, so before he could think twice he scrubbed his ass, rinsed and turned the water off. Muttering and wiping water from his face as he reached for his towel.

He was still shivering as he made his way back to their little camp. Felt like his nipples were so hard they may just break off like icicles.

Dean was still in his chair by the fire, had a bag of peanut M&M’s tucked into the front of his jacket and a half empty bag of marshmallows on his lap. The one on the end of his stick was beginning to blacken.

“Dude—don’t sling it like that!” Sam dodged to the side as Dean gave the flaming chunk of sugar and gelatin a whip on the end of the stick, extinguishing the flame. “You’re gonna burn somebody.”

“Eh,” Dean ignored him, skinned off the molten bit of the marshmallow and shoved it into his mouth. Little flakes of sugary charcoal catching on the elongated hairs on his chin and upper lip.

Sam rolled his eyes and stole one from the package, his nervous stomach always craved sugar. Skittles, Sour Patch Kids, Gummy Worms… He had a problem, he knew.

“So,” Dean said, setting his marshmallow aflame again; “Am I supposed to drop you off at the Biggerson’s or what?”

“No. He’s coming to get me.”

Dean snorted, swiped the charred, sticky end of his stick with his pocket knife to clean it off and speared another marshmallow; “That sounds ominous.”

Sam tried to ignore him, started scrubbing his teeth clean.

_“They’re coming to get you, Barbara!”_ Dean said in a nasal falsetto.

“Knock it off,” Sam warned around a mouthful of foam.

Dean just giggled quietly and gave his marshmallow a vicious flick to extinguish it.

0-0-0

Matthew appeared at ten minutes before eight.

He drove a sedate black two-door with a matching black interior.

Dean watched him from behind sunglasses—even though it was nearing dusk and he didn’t need them. Sat across the fire with his arms folded and one leg thrown over the other knee, judging silently.

Sam wanted to tell him to stop it. Just, for real, fucking stop! But Dean just sat there staring as Matthew stopped behind the Impala and climbed out, folding his big arms across the roof of his car and grinning at Sam with his intent practically written across his face.

Sam’s stomach was fluttering. A low, warm hum of arousal settled deep in his gut. “Uh—hi.”

God, that was lame.

Matthew chuckled; “Hi.”

Dean cleared his throat like an old man with COPD and crossed his arms higher on his chest.

Sam ground his teeth and began compiling a list of things he could do to make his brother regret this.

Matthew looked at Dean and rolled his eyes in amusement; “I take it you’re the big brother?”

Dean said nothing.

“Don’t worry, Sir!” Matthew gave him a mock salute; “I’ll have him home at twelve-thirty sharp!”

“Oh, God,” Sam said softly, face contorting in embarrassment; “Don’t encourage him. Please!” He opened the passenger door and slid inside quickly, glad the tinted windows offered a modicum of privacy.

Matthew climbed back in and motioned to the side of the car at Sam’s ear. “Seat belts, please!”

Sam obliged.

0-0-0

They got food first. Which Sam appreciated, because it gave them a chance to talk and get to know one another—also gave him a chance to decide for certain if sex was on the table with this man. Sam was nervous. Shaky in his core because this was a very different experience from being with women.

For one, Matthew put a hand on Sam’s thigh as they drove out of the camp ground. A good four inches above his knee, a warm broad weight of skin just a few inches from Sam’s crotch.

His music was turned low, the windows down once they got into the city, heater on.

The seats were heated and Sam felt surrounded by it. Matthew’s hand on his leg, the leather cradling him. The chill of the wind through his hair and on his flushed face.

Matthew was in the Hospitality industry. He managed a hotel and owned one third of a bar with his brother-in-law and sister.

“It’s not big money, but it’s money, ya’know?”

Sam nodded, put his right elbow in the window edge and gripped the roof of the car, something to squeeze to help bleed out the tension and want growing in his body as Matthew’s hand gently kneaded his inner thigh.

“What do you do?” Matthew said, meeting Sam’s eyes when they came to a stop at a traffic light.

“Uh—at the moment I’m taking a sabbatical,” Sam glanced downward at his shoes in the footwell. Flexed his fingers against the seatbelt and roof respectively. “I’m two semesters from graduating pre-law, but I-I lost my girlfriend in a fire last year, and my dad a few months ago to a stroke—”

“Shit, man. Double tap like that, it’s not fair. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my dad. Seriously.”

“—thanks… I’m just doing the cross-country thing with my asshole big brother right now, trying to get my head on straight again I guess.”

“Not too straight, I hope,” Matthew grinned crookedly.

Sam shivered out a laugh; “No… never too straight, but-uh… yeah.” 

The bar Matthew owned with his sister and her husband was in what looked like an old garage. The big bay doors were still there, now behind decorative privacy fence. Rolled up to allow access to the patio dining area. The interior was very industrial, still maintaining the garage-aesthetic with antique oil and petroliana on the walls, exposed bricks and shiny black concrete bar top. Sam thought Dean may like the place.

Matthew sat close, his long muscular legs stretched out to bracket Sam’s feet under the table. Bump his expensive leather shoes against Sam’s stained jeans.

Matthew’s sister was named Violet, she had long hair in dreadlocks and freckles. Wore a black chef coat with bright orange piping and buttons over tight jeans and black sneakers. She was slim and beautiful and pulled her brother’s ear with a crinkled nose when she came over with their food.

Big Sister. Sam felt his chest warm with affection and he grinned crookedly at Matthew.

The food was good—Teriyaki chicken burgers with Swiss cheese and pineapple with fresh onion petals and spicy mustard.

Matthew had a beer. Some dark brew on tap that Sam hadn’t heard of before. Of course, his beer palate was somewhat lacking in sophistication. Thank you, college student budget and cheap twelve-packs from the gas-station.

Jess had been more of a wine and hard liquor kind of person, and she’d always had more money—thank you stable upper-middle-class family.

Violet suggested a Boiler-Maker, and Sam had two—Felt warm and fuzzy inside, at least where he wasn’t all hot and bothered.

They climbed back into Matthew’s car after their meal, and that… that’s when things got fun.

Matthew took them out onto the interstate and drove too fast with the windows down and the stereo blasting. Sam wasn’t even sure what it was, just something with a strong beat that vibrated up his legs and deep into his hips.

Matthew’s hand slid a little higher on his leg and Sam was half hard just from the half-inch of movement, his left hand slid up Matthew’s arm onto the other man’s shoulder and he felt a rumble roll through that broad chest.

Sam was hideously disappointed when Matthew turned them back toward the camp ground—felt himself whine and wriggle against that hand on his leg, skin electrified when the pressure increased.

Matthew laughed and downshifted, the loud growl of the engine lowering, slowing as he turned onto the narrower country roads. Began a slow, hushed crawl deeper into the shrouded darkness.

The music gentled and quieted and Sam felt himself sprawling back in the passenger seat, cocking his knees apart in invitation as Matthew’s hand crept steadily higher.

His heart was racing and Matthew’s mouth curled into a crooked sly grin; “Oh, boy you really want it, don’t you.”

It was by no means a question.

Sam nodded and his hand slid back down, over the swirls tattooed across Matthew’s shoulders and the back of his neck. The praying Madonna on his bicep and beautifully colored leaves and scales of a serpent amid tree branches on his triceps and forearm. Pulled Matthew’s wide hand against the front of his jeans.

Matthew stomped the break and pulled his lower lip between his teeth, yanked the wheel to the right and practically drove his car into the ditch. Killed the lights and engine and fought quickly with his seat-belt. “Come here,” He grabbed a handful of Sam’s shirt and yanked him across the gear shift and center console. Crashed their mouths together with a growl and a scrape of teeth; “Been thinking of nothing but that dick all night!”

Sam doesn’t have any condoms.

Of fucking course.

Matthew rolls his eyes; “You think I’d come out with you and not have them?” He has a three-pack of Magnums still balled up in the pharmacy bag shoved under his seat. Reaches between Sam’s legs and pushes the passenger seat backward, crawls with unbelievable flexibility from behind the wheel and into Sam’s lap—Fights with the handle on the side of the seat and drops it back into a fully reclined position.

It’s a tight fit.

Sam is thin, but not small by any means, and Matthew is over six-feet and has about twenty or more pounds on Sam. But, maybe, that’s part of the fun.

“How do you want it,” Matthew growls in his ear—catches the lobe between his teeth and worships it with his tongue; “I kind of want to blow you—but also want to get that dick in me so fast I’ll feel it for a week.”

Sam’s eyes roll up and he bunches Matthew’s shirt between his hands, drags the man closer.

It’s nothing like being with a woman. A woman he can lift and maneuver any way he wants… Matthew is heavy, thick, and aggressive in his own right. Wants Sam right-the-fuck-now.

“Fuck I want more room—” Sam growls and attacks the other man’s throat, finds the crest of his collar bone and latches on—leaves a mark darker than his skin and shaped like his teeth.

“Don’t have it, unfortunately… My roommate’s home with the flu and I doubt that big brother of yours wants us fuckin’ in your tent.”

“Fuck you in the middle of the road if I wanna!”

Matthew tilts his head against Sam’s shoulder and laughs. It’s a wonderful, deep belly sound. “White boy, you are ten kinds of crazy!” Then he catches Sam’s jaw and crushes their mouths together. “I am higher class than that, thank you very much! And if I didn’t work at the only hotel in town other than the Motor Court, I’d take you there—And don’t even think about the Motor Court. I’d rather fuck in my car than in that shithole.”

“Okay, yeah, I get that—" Sam grabs his ass through his tight dark jeans and kneads the firm flesh he finds there, strains up against the hands on his shoulders for another biting kiss.

The next few seconds are a constricted fight with clothes.

Matthew wrestling off his jacket and Sam’s t-shirt.

Sam arching his behind out of the seat enough to get his jeans open and his dick out.

Matthew freezes staring down in the dim light from his stereo. “Okay… Okay, I can’t not get my mouth on that—”

Sam feels his legs trembling in want.

“You clean?” Matthew says, meeting his eyes evenly, intent making them so dark for half a second Sam wonders if he’s lost the salt packets in his jacket pocket.

“Yeah—Yeah, I’m clean.”

“You better not be lying.”

“I’m not. I’m clean,” Sam leans upward for another kiss, hungry for this man in any way he can get him.

Matthew contorts himself into the floor on his knees and presses one hand to each of Sam’s hips with considerable force. The noise he makes as he leans in with his mouth open and just swallows Sam down without an ounce of hesitation rumbles through Sam’s body like an earthquake.

He tries to buck up—instinctively—helplessly and grips at the short tight curls on Matthew’s head, head dropping back on an open mouthed cry.

It’s loud and sudden in the close confines of the car, but Matthew does nothing but put more effort into keeping Sam pinned, slides Sam’s cock deep into his throat and swallows, pulls off with a breath and goes down again moaning.

Sam isn’t used to being forcefully held down. Isn’t used to not being in control of sex. It’s a little frightening that Matthew is pinning him down and deepthroating him and Sam can’t so much as squirm. All he can do is helplessly—restlessly shift his legs, grip the other man’s hair and try not to shout because fuck-fuck-fuck Matthew has a tongue ring. How the hell had he missed that. The man has a tongue ring and he’s using it to play along every sensitive point of Sam’s dick like he owns him. Like he could hold Sam down and have his way with him.

Maybe he could.

The idea is at once terrifying and so arousing Sam nearly loses himself. Cries out helplessly and scratches his short, blunt nails against the back of Matthew’s neck. Legs tense and kicking weakly in what little space he has. He can focus on nothing but the fact that tongue ring is probing at his slit and Matthew can flick his tongue like a goddamned hummingbird’s wing.

“Stop—stopstop_stop!”_

Matthew keeps going for three-four seconds then relents. Lifts his head with a wet slurp and chuckles low in his chest. “What’s the matter?”

Sam goes limp, gasping for breath. “You are too fucking good at that.”

“Sorry. Would have been a goddamn crime not to get my mouth on this, man. A crime!” He licks another firm, wet stripe from Sam’s balls to his tip, flickers his tongue again and makes Sam twitch violently with a sound like he’s been gut punched.

Sam lays there panting for a few seconds while Matthew unfolds himself from the floor and wriggles his jeans down to his knees.

“Don’t have enough lube to do this the right way—” Matthew says, “So, no rough stuff.”

Sam nods, watches as the other rips into the package of condoms and pulls out two. Tears them open with his teeth and slides one carefully over his own heavy shaft.

He’s about average length, if Sam’s eyes aren’t playing tricks on him in the dark, but the girth of him is astounding. He feels himself staring.

Matthew grins and strokes himself with a little lube; “Yeah… if we had time and enough lube—Size does matter. I promise you.”

Sam is a little glad they don’t have either. The idea of something that wide pushing into him with the ferocity he can feel barely contained beneath Matthew’s skin—All Sam can imagine is pain.

Tim the bright green dildo had been a shock the first few times Sam had been on the receiving end of it. He remembered the first time had been brief and he’d asked for it to stop because he couldn’t get himself to relax enough for it to be anything other than an alien—uncomfortable invasion.

This—well. It was a good thing they were moving on in the morning, because as horny as Sam was, Matthew may be able to frustrate him enough to do it anyway and hurt himself.

Matthew works a condom slowly over Sam, rolls his balls in his big hand for a few moments encouragingly, then turns and sits backward in Sam’s lap, rubbing his ass against Sam’s length.

“You’re gonna have to help me a little, don’t have enough room to Cowboy it up.”

Sam nodded and gripped himself with a shaking hand behind the head, bracing Matthew at mid back with his other hand while the other man rubbed lube generously around his hole, and pushed a bit into himself.

Matthew put on a show of sticking fingers one by one into himself, stretching them wide so Sam could see the soft pink of his insides between strong fingers.

“Okay—Let me have that dick, man. Give it to me!” Matthew arched his hips back insistently.

Sam lined himself up and slowly let the other man ease down onto him.

The first two inches weren’t easy. Matthew’s ass was like a vice. Almost painfully tight, but he seemed to like it. Groaned loudly and cursed and rocked himself back and forth on those first two inches.

“That’s nice—gimmie that fat cock—Come on, let me have it,” He pushed back against Sam’s bracing hand, eager.

“Careful—”

“Careful my ass—I want that dick—” He pushed back hard and took Sam in with a single long—heavy slide down.

Sam could feel the friction—imagined that it must hurt and tried to pull Matthew up again, but the other man was gripping the dashboard and had superior leverage. Rocked his hips in quick grinding circles.

“I like it rough, Sam. You gonna give me what I want?”

Sam was quiet, breathing quickly. Enthralled by the feeling of warm human constriction around his throbbing cock. “If that’s the way you want it. I can do rough—”

It’s quick. Almost violent.

Matthew holds onto the dash with rigid fingers and lifts and lowers himself quick and hard—And below him Sam gripped his hips with bruising force, shoving up and down into him with single minded purpose. 

The car rocks violently, suspension squeaking, skin slaps wetly—Matthew encourages him with goading, expletive riddled growls. Leans back suddenly and tangles his hand in Sam’s hair, pulls and turns to crash their mouths together. Jerks himself hard and fast.

“That’s it, fuck me—harder—_harder!”_

And Sam is mindless. Strains and holds him up into an arch—hips popping up and down so hard he’s sure his hipbones will be bruised—

It’s quick and rough and Sam has bruises on his scalp and lips and stubble burn on his jaw, neck and between his thighs.

Matthew comes first with a few harsh grunts. Shoves himself down hard on Sam’s dick and grinds through it. Goes boneless and lets Sam do what he will, biting and licking and sucking at the side of the hunter’s neck and growling encouragements until Sam breathes heavy and quick against his ear, mouth open and a hard shiver through his body.

Then they just sit there for a few seconds, bodies twitching and crackling with aftershocks.

The cleanup is pretty quick. Condoms thrown into the ditch, clothes righted. Long lingering kisses behind tinted windows as Matthew drops him off back at the campsite.

“You ever come back through… let me know,” Matthew says, eyes dark and earnest. “Think I’d give my left nut to have a chance at that ass of yours.”

Sam grins, kisses him one more time and climbs out of the car, shutting the door behind him.

0-0-0

0-0-0

0-0-0


End file.
